


What Was It All For?

by Janeway_74656



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-02
Updated: 2018-09-02
Packaged: 2019-07-05 17:45:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15868602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janeway_74656/pseuds/Janeway_74656
Summary: Mulder's thoughts as he weeps at Scully's bedside. Takes place during Redux II





	What Was It All For?

It was dark, long past visiting hours. Though he knew he shouldn't be there, that FBI badge gave him a lot of freedoms that the average citizen wouldn't have.

She lay with her back to him, her pink hospital gown rising and falling with every breath. The medicine was keeping her sedated, comfortable.

He walked around the bed to see her face, moonlight streaming though the parted curtains. Her bright blue eyes were closed in slumber. Her fair, alabaster skin had a sallow tinge to it, no longer the shade of a healthy, robust woman, but sickly…fighting for survival. The dark circles around her eyes made her suffering even more evident. Even her fiery red hair seemed to have lost its luster, clinging limply to her face, spilling onto her pillow.

Tenderly, he reached out and brushed her hair away from her face. Her rosy lips were pale, cracked from the dry hospital air. They were parted slightly, her breathing comfortable and rhythmic.

This was all his fault.

His unquenchable search for the truth had led them both to this point.

And now she was on her deathbed. All because of him. 

They had given her cancer, in order that he would believe the lies.

If she had never walked into his office, if she hadn't followed him, she wouldn't be here. Neither of them would.

Maybe they would be friends, maybe see each other in the hall once in a while, exchange the occasional water cooler pleasantry, but she wouldn't be dying.

He wouldn't be the "sorry son of a bitch" that had taken her chance at a normal life away.

Noiselessly, he knelt next to her bed, his face inches from hers'. Try as he may, he couldn't hold his emotions in any longer. He allowed the sobs to silently rack his body as he gingerly held her hand. 

How would he go on without her?

As his tears continued to fall, he began to think back.

Four years. 

Four years of partnership, of arguments, of chasing God-only-knows-what leads to the end of the earth.

Four years of friendship, of leaning on each other, of sometimes being the only person who understood all this craziness.

And what was it all for? For her to give up her life for HIS cause? It all seemed so insignificant now.

He owed her so much.

A fire began to stir within him. Not of anger, but of resolve. If she pulled through ("When," he reminded himself), he would spend every chance he had showing her what she meant to him. This was no longer about him and his quest for the truth. Now, it was about healing and moving forward, together. All he wanted for the rest of his life was her.

He stayed like that with her. The next thing he saw were the first streaks of dawn taking the place of the night.

He released her hand and rose to his feet, his muscles and joints aching in protest. He leaned over and laid a delicate kiss on her cheek. She stirred ever so slightly before settling back into slumber.

As he turned to exit the room, he heard her voice, barely above a whisper.

"Mulder…"

He smiled slightly. "I'll be back soon," he whispered, and slipped out into the dawn.


End file.
